


can I take my leave of you?

by leilariddle



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 21:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15373683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leilariddle/pseuds/leilariddle
Summary: "Shall we meet in the sunrise, stand one last time as two. I'll look deep into your eyes, can I take my leave of you?"





	can I take my leave of you?

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: this story contains a detailed suicide attempt. If you think this is a trigger, please DON'T continue reading!!!
> 
>  
> 
> PS: this is my first time writing for these beauties. If you're willing to continue, enjoy!! It's not beta'ed, so sorry for any spelling mistakes. Give kudos and comments please, they mean a lot to me!

It was at this time of the day that Philippe Duc d'Orleans liked to be gambling his money away and winning it back in tenfold at the salon. And that's where he was right now, the bitter faces of the gentlemen in front of him making a stark contrast of his own naughty smirk. And it was then when Philippe heard the hurried footsteps before he could look up, and when he did, he saw Bontemps coming towards him with four guards trailing after the valet. The latter leaned down to whisper something in his ear, his brow furrowed deep.

"It's the Chevalier de Lorraine... he's on the rooftop, Highness. Perhaps you might want to go."

On the rooftop? Oh, fuck.

Philippe's body seemed to know what it was doing long before he did. And there he was, running past everyone and everything, not caring even for a fraction of second what was going on around the universe itself that Versailles sometimes appeared to be. Now Philippe felt like he wasn't even there, that he was back in the battlefield, mud and blood and the stench of death hanging heavy in the air. The marble pillars and the stairs he was currently running on vanished before him like morning mist, and seemed to take form of enemies everywhere he looked. It is odd how in war, when the trumpets sound and the ranks of soldiers start running towards the enemy, your mind could go completely blank except for that stain in front of you, which is your goal; and you and the world with all the people in it, with their fears, dreams and hopes, all of it just boils down to crush your enemy under your boot. That goal now was for Philippe to reach the rooftop before the Chevalier did something really stupid, but in this war the enemy seemed to be fading away and he just had to keep running.

Eventually, Philippe's eyes recognised the doors that led to the rooftop. They were just atop the stairs, one of them slightly opened. Philippe's stomach turned into a knot and his heart threatened to burst out of his chest but he very much doubted it was because of his run across the palace. He didn't remember going up the steps, and much less fully opening the door. But what Philippe would never forget was the sight of the Chevalier standing on the edge.

His hair was a mess of blond waves, and from behind his clothes seemed scruffy and dirty. Philippe saw a dark green bottle beside the Chevalier, with only two or three swallows left from the look of it. The man himself was just looking down, to what Philippe couldn't say, and didn't even seem to hear the latter's footsteps approaching. So he had to call out,

"Don't do it."

The Chevalier trembled at the sound of Philippe's voice, clearly startled. He turned around, and Philippe was attacked by a sudden wave of feelings he couldn't quite place. His lover's beautiful green eyes that seemed to glow under the candles whenever they used to lay in bed laughing and teasing each other, now were dark and puffy from the tears dampening his pale cheeks. He had a deep crimson gash on his forehead glistening with dried blood, and Philippe just wanted to run to him and hold him so tight, and heal everything away with kisses. His hands were twisting with the urge to touch the Chevalier, pull him out of there before there was no turning back.

"Why are you here? Just go away," the blond man whispered and turned around, looking down again.

Philippe shook his head. "I won't. Please, get off there and we'll talk about it. Just don't do it."

The Chevalier didn't answer.

But it was when Philippe decided to approach him that the Chevalier turned around again, this time pulling out his dagger from his pocket. Philippe stopped dead on his feet from the shock, and raised his hands slowly as the other man's gaze bore into him intently, angrily.

He pointed at Philippe with the dagger. "Don't you dare take one more step or I swear I'll be gone before you can even blink!"

"You don't want to do that. I know you," he replied.

It wasn't a secret that the Chevalier was overall a coward, and Philippe had very good reasons to think that the man didn't want to do it. But his confidence in that statement was failing, and literally any misstep could end up in the Chevalier falling from the rooftop so Philippe couldn't dare to approach him. He had to make the man get off there with words, and he wasn't completely sure how to do that.

Suddenly, Philippe could hear sounds coming from behind him, so he turned his head around to find Bontemps and his trail of guards standing near the door, contemplating the scene before them. Philippe ignored the look that the valet was giving him and turned back his gaze towards the Chevalier. He was looking at them too, his dagger clutched tightly in one hand and he frowned for a moment before he looked at him and said,

"Tell them to leave."

Just one movement from Philippe's raised hand was enough for Bontemps to lead the guards out of the roof before he himself retreated inside and closed the door behind him. The Chevalier just kept looking down at the precipice, and the silence that fell around them was too loud to bear.

But it was then when the Chevalier's hand seemed to loosen his grip on the dagger, and the object fell from it with a steely 'clink'. Philippe noticed that the now empty hand was shaking slightly, but the man didn't turn around.

"I have nothing left..." the blond said with a sob.

"You have me. Always."

The Chevalier laughed bitterly. "How can I, when you now seem to favor that stupid writer over me and your wife is pregnant? Tell me, what can be my place now?"

Philippe had sometimes wondered what place the Chevalier had in his life, but the lines had always seemed a bit too much blurred. He didn't think of the man as a conventional lover, because he knew that they shared a bond too strong to be mistaken as a little more than a temporary infatuation. But Philippe being married, he couldn't consider the Chevalier as a 'husband' of sorts. So he just said the plain truth, because God knows that the Chevalier deserved it.

"The place only the love of my life can have. It's yours, and it will always be yours. You have my word on it."

"Yes, I know firsthand what your words count for, darling." He turned around and stretched his arms wide. "After all, they've brought me here and now."

Philippe just needed his words to bring the Chevalier back to where he was standing, safely away from the edge. So he figured that the time for honesty was now, no ifs or buts. Could he just swallow his pride to save the Chevalier's life? He had to, or else...

So Philippe did the only thing that his brain could allow him to do.

He fell on his knees.

"I know I haven't given you much reasons to trust my words," he started after a few seconds.

"Clearly," was the Chevalier's sarcastic remark.

"But after everything we've been through all these years, everything we've done to each other a hundred times over, we've always found a way to come back to each other in the end. So how can you doubt even for a second that I love you? Please, I need you to come back to me now. More than anything else in the world."

Philippe stood up slowly from the ground, not daring to take his eyes off the Chevalier's dark green ones, still fixed on his intently. It was odd, how in all these years that Philippe had known the Chevalier, the man has always seemed like an open book, every emotion he has ever felt showed on his face and made it so easy to Philippe to know what the Chevalier was feeling or thinking, if he was upset or angry or merely bored. But now, Philippe was having a hard time figuring out what the Chevalier could possibly be thinking as his face appeared to be carved of stone. And if Philippe had to be honest, it scared him beyond belief.

Perhaps that's why the sudden motion of the Chevalier crossing his arms around himself made the knot on Philippe's stomach tighten with shock.

"What about him... your writer?" asked the Chevalier.

Philippe smiled nervously. "Him? He's nothing to me. A mere speck of dust compared to you."

"Oh yes, a speck of dust that has your complete affection. And your free time, apparently. That hurts a bit, Mignonette."

He shook his head. "I will explain it to you, everything, but it's better if we talk about it inside. Just the two of us."

"And why is that, I wonder?" he paused, smiling. "Oh, I think I know why." He looked down. "All these people came to see a show. How can I not give them one? After all, if I'm gone, you'll be free to live your life the way you want to. I'm sure your writer will be pleased, perhaps he's down here watching me right now with a big smile on his lips. And your wife, she won't miss me too much, I fear. What do you say to that, darling?"

And there wasn't much to say, truly. Just that there were so many things he needed to say that Philippe couldn't possibly know where to begin. He could imagine a finish line, and the Chevalier seemed to get closer to it with every word that Philippe uttered. He was getting desperate, because he couldn't run towards him and drag him down to the floor without fearing that the other man would fall in the struggle and perhaps drag him along too. And Philippe's words weren't just working. But one thing was clear to him; that what the Chevalier had said was horseshit. And he needed to make the man understand it.

"Fine," he nodded quickly, "you want me to give you an answer to that? I'll do it. The truth is that I can't fucking lose you, because if I do then I'll have nothing left either. My brother is the king, and he's so scared that I'll outshine him in the battlefield that he's deprived me of going to war. I've gotten my wife pregnant, yes, but do you want to know how? Because I had to pretend that I was fucking some sweaty soldiers and even you, once or a dozen times. And she's a good woman, I know it, but I will never be able to love her as I do you. And as for Thomas, he's a spy for the Dutch and my brother commanded me to befriend him and give him false information about his plans. The only thing that matters to me right now is getting you somewhere safe, anywhere. Everyone else can go fuck themselves on a spike if it means that you won't jump off this rooftop. You understand me now?"

He could see the Chevalier swallow as he pondered on Philippe's words. His eyes were glistening with unshed tears, but only one of them rolled fast down his pale cheek.

"I can't lose you either."

And they were just five simple words, but they meant the whole universe to Philippe in that moment. He actually sighed in relief and gave the Chevalier a shaky smile, knowing what he had to do. He started to walk slowly towards the man as one would a wounded animal, with his hand stretched out. The Chevalier just stood there looking at him, his face now showing too many emotions for Philippe to figure them out.

He stopped just a few feet away from the Chevalier but he was still at arm's reach, his heart beating furiously inside his chest.

"Give me your hand, it's alright. Everything's alright now."

And the Chevalier for once did what he asked. God knows he did it, and Philippe could have kissed him senseless just because of it. But he didn't, instead he helped the man down and held his hand tighter once the Chevalier's feet were safely on the ground. Philippe gave him a full-teethed smile this time and crossed his right arm over the Chevalier's shoulders, as if trying to shield him as they made their way inside the palace.

****

His servants were running a bath for the Chevalier, but Philippe ushered them out with a flick of his hand as soon as they were done. The walk back to his room had been almost unbearably awkward, with what seemed like all the people residing at Versailles staring at them and muttering behind their backs. They had not said a word to each other, the Chevalier just letting Philippe take the lead, the latter's arm still clutching him safely by his side. When they arrived, Philippe had led the man to his bed and made him sit there as he commanded the servants to run the bath and put a damp cloth to the Chevalier's forehead, cleaning up the wound. When that was done and he went to leave the cloth upon a desk, it made Philippe frown with concern when he turned around and saw the Chevalier in the same position he was left in, looking down at the floor and his arms wrapped around himself. It was going to be a long evening.

Philippe could just approach him and crouch down before him, reaching out to take his warm hand and entwining their fingers before pulling at it gently to make the Chevalier stand up. He did after a few seconds and Philippe didn't waste time as he began to undress the man with all the tenderness he could muster as if the Chevalier were a porcelain doll ready to crack at the lightest touch. When he was finally naked, Philippe guided him to the bath and the Chevalier went in on his own. They had taken baths together countless of times, and all of them had been wild adventures that had ended up in sex and Philippe's room being half drowned in spilt water. And one time they had managed to fall off the bath after a silly fight, ending up sprawled on the floor, bruised but laughing. Philippe was sure that they would have that again when the Chevalier started to feel a bit better, but not today. Now it was Philippe's turn to take care of his broken sweetheart, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to do just that.

So he started to wash the Chevalier's hair, massaging his scalp and running his fingers through the now dark-blond strands. Philippe thought that he could get used to it; after all, it seemed like a good form of therapy, perhaps for the two of them. When he was finished with the Chevalier's hair, he moved to his arms and torso, rubbing the perfumed oil all over the pale smooth skin. Philippe stole some glances at him every now and then, and it made him smile to watch those green eyes following the every movement of his hands. After that followed his long legs, and his feet. Philippe was almost sure that he didn't do it on purpose, but it was so sweet to hear the Chevalier laugh just for a few seconds as Philippe traced his fingers down the skin of his foot sole. He knew very well that the Chevalier was impossibly ticklish everywhere.

When he finished, Philippe sat down on the floor and leaned his head onto the bath's edge, staring at the Chevalier. He was so beautiful like this, wet and with a thoughtful look on his face. Him being awfully quiet made Philippe feel a bit worried, but he imagined it was normal after the events of the day. But Philippe didn't have to wait much longer hear the sound of his voice again.

"I wasn't going to do it. I couldn't," he whispered.

Philippe nodded. "I know."

"I guess that truly makes me a coward, doesn't it?"

Philippe didn't think so.

"No, it makes you wise somehow."

The Chevalier only nodded. He was making waves with his fingers by running his hand up and down the surface, but stopped when Philippe caught his hand and entwined their fingers. They stayed like that for a few minutes, appreciating the comfortable silence between them. Eventually, it was broken by the Chevalier struggling to sit up.

"The water's cold. I'm going to look like my grandfather soon if I don't get out."

Philippe smirked and helped him out, drying the Chevalier's body with the thick soft towel and handing him one of his own nightgowns. The other man just looked at him curiously for a second before accepting it with a small smile and putting it on. They made their way to the bed and Philippe told the Chevalier to get in while he changed out of his own dirty clothes and put on his nightgown. When he was ready, Philippe turned his head to the Chevalier only to find his eyes closed, already asleep. His smile was full of fondness as he blew out the candle on his bedside table got under the sheets, careful not to disturb his lover. Philippe just stayed on his back right beside the Chevalier but without touching him; the latter was sleeping on his side, facing him. But after a while, Philippe felt him move and when he turned his head to the side, he saw green eyes staring at him, glowing under the moonlight coming from their open window. And he threw his right arm across Philippe's chest, and his own left arm instinctively circled the small of the Chevalier's back.

"Thank you." The Chevalier's voice was only a whisper, but it was clear as a summer day to Philippe's ears.

He kissed the top of the Chevalier's head, inhaling the flowery scent of his clean hair, and closed his eyes.

Yes, they always find a way to come back to each other in the end.


End file.
